It's for the Cameras, Love
by Sylph Of Heart 1
Summary: England, posing as a human is sent to a university in Scotland to be just that. a human. and he meets a girl there, a girl who's complicated. but oh so simple at the same time. EnglandxOc i wrote late at night sorry if there are mistakes! . i own nothing but characters and plot.


It's for the cameras, Love-redo

_It'll be good for appearances _

She said.

_You need a partner anyway. _

She said.

_It's been 400 years!_

She said.

_It'll be __**fine **_

She said.

Oh how England, (Or Arthur Kirkland, as he was going by) loved and hated his beloved Queen at this moment.

He cared about his monarch, he really did.

But did she have to do _this _to him?

Send him to a university in bloody _Scotland _to find himself a lover a life and some new qualifications. He's way too old for this.

But of course, social networks had gotten round to _questioning his bloody existence. _

Who is the mystery man by the Queen's side?

Looking back, he's been by her side a _while. _

Records go back to her majesty Elizabeth II's coronation.

And he hasn't changed _a bit._

He just had to _be there, didn't he?_

All that time, he had stayed out of the public eye, especially on camera, but oh, it was such a big day, he just _couldn't resist. _

And look where that got him.

St. Andrews University, that's where.

Studying History.

Oh, _joy. _

As if it wasn't bad enough the _first time round. When he was actually __**there. **_

But oh, no. he just had to go learn about it and punch things after class when they got things wrong, or when he lost, because he knew he couldn't change any of those things and couldn't save the lives that were lost in his name.

Harry Potter, eat your heart out. Because millions have died for Arthur Kirkland.

_That's right._

_Millions._

_Maybe even Billions. _

Because every _war _and every _mishap _his nation got into, people died for him.

I mean, battle of Stirling Bridge _for god's sake. _

And don't get him started on the _revolutionary war. _

_Oh, god. Don't. _

And all those battles and mishaps brought him to this corridor, walking to the library, for some solitude.

Some peace.

Because thinking of these things made him want to cry, but France made enough fun of him when he cried over things like that.

But after, he would always comfort him.

The whole world knew it, England would think back and cry and if you wanted to take the mickey, you did.

But you always helped him afterwards.

You couldn't leave a broken man to cry like that. It just wasn't right.

_A broken man?_

Had it really gotten to that point?

He sighed as he walked into the library, his heart leaping slightly as books of all types lined the shelves and shelves were indeed bountiful.

Bounty.

Reminded him of his pirate days.

Here he goes again.

He went to where he usually did, in the few short weeks into the start of the year he had claimed it as his own place.

The back of the Library, in the history section.

Except, today, it wasn't exactly…_his spot. _

It was more like, _her spot. _

As, in his usual place, a young girl sat where he normally did, nose deep in a book about the-

Guess what?

Revolutionary war.

She wore what he had heard described as "Hipster Nerd Glasses" and her black hair almost completely covered her left eye. It went down to her shoulder, and her pale skin seemed to have some tan on it, but it was fading away,

Maybe she went on holiday?

It was _Scotland _after all. And his brother, the nation himself, did say there was as much chance as a tan-worthy day in Scotland as there was a _Satan Day _in the Vatican.

It was just so damn _cold. _

_Colder than England. _

In fact, apparently mild arctic temperatures could hit Scotland. And the mornings were the worst.

But enough about that.

The girl before him had green eyes. Unlike his they were more like jade. Cloudier and thicker, while his seemed more polished and fresh. Her hair, as stated was dyed black with a blue tint, and was clearly straightened allot and choking on hairspray. She wore a blue t-shirt and a black hoodie, black skinny jeans and red converse.

Very organised. Her colour schemes were anyway, for, if you knew this girl, you would know she was as scatter brained as you could get, and so forgetful it was borderline worrying.

How she got into this university, she would never know.

She always wanted to go here. Maybe it was her enthusiasm. Maybe her determination to get in and prove the people she knew wrong.

Or maybe it was sheer luck.

Like I said. She would never know.

She turned a page, still without noticing the Englishman standing before her. Between them, was a shelf to their right and left, and a table immediately in front of them, and a soft red and black couch to sit and study on.

"_study" _

_Heh. _

No. he sat and he read whatever he wanted. He even read things in other languages, though never French, to see if he could at least recall some of the words and phrases other nations had taught him.

Not much luck, as you would imagine.

Deciding that he had stood there long enough, he cleared his throat, shocking the girl and making her drop the book with a _thunk _onto the cold blue desk before her.

"O-oh hello… were you wanting the book, or something…?" she began, not even looking at him for more than a second. Her cheeks flushed, as she was embarrassed.

"oh, no" _why would I want to read about that bloody wanker… and his cute face as a child. _

_Or when he pointed that gun at me. _

_Not so cute and innocent then, was he?_

"I just…it's just, I normally sit here. I kinda claimed it as "Arthur's spot… but, being the gentleman I am, I cant ask you to move…so…

Can I sit with you?"

At that moment, Arthur would never realise how much that sentence impacted his life.

And neither did the girl. So her response wasn't thought of as a big deal.

"…Sure why not, Arthur. It is Arthur right?" he laughed and nodded as he sat on the other end of the couch, dumping his things and looking at the books, breathing in the scent of new and old books, and the scent of history.

Some of it even _his _history.

He suddenly felt very exposed. As though he was naked in front of everyone in the world, and everyone was watching, waiting for him to screw up even further.

His _life history _was littered amongst these pages. And although his own personal emotions and reasons remained 99%hidden, he felt a little…pardon the pun, like he was an _open book. _

Free for anyone to read. And he had nothing to cling to that was personal or secret at all, because every secret his military kept in the past had been uncovered, and current secrets would be found in the future, too.

Every card his monarchs had played to run his nation the best they could were laid out on the table. Just waiting to be revisited.

He missed them sometimes.

His missed them so much.

If there ever was a nation to make the same mistakes, it was England.

Always getting close to Monarchs, Always protecting his pride first, Always trusting his colonies, back when he had some, to be loyal to him.

Always trusting _his people. _

Oh yes. He learned that one, he learned that one in the form of _Olivier Cromwell. _

The one ruler he despised.

He would spit on his grave, were he not a gentleman.

"So, Arthur… what were ya gonna do here. Sit and frown at books or read?" she whispered, giggling softly.

"O-oh, I was going to pick up a book, but I can frown at them if I bloody want!" he pouted, he was thinking, he was _busy. _

His whisper was harsh, but his face was all red, and if you asked her, very cute.

She had already noted this fact about Arthur.

He was very attractive, and very cute. Despite the eyebrows, nobodies perfect, that's what she always said.

Arthur stood, and ran his hands across the books, almost visibly shivering.

_His life, told in so many ways. From so many points of view. _

Sometimes he felt historians knew more about his past than he did.

Or seemed to, at least.

His hand settled on a book about Napoleon Bonaparte.

This would be a _laugh. _

Until he sat down…

"so, you like French history?"

Bugger. Bugger, bugger and bollocks. Of course he didn't. bloody frog irritated him!

"No I do not!" realising he was far too loud, he quietened his voice. Glad the Library was almost empty, and glad his secluded corner was what it was, secluded.

"I just…I don't know, I didn't want to read anything too depressing, like what you're reading. Miss…what ever you're name is. Not giving an introduction is rude, you know." He smiled softly, she smirked in response.

"well, my names Lizzy Carter. Arthur." He smiled. A name, at last.

Our mystery woman has a name.

"Arthur Kirkland, charmed" she giggled and he offered a hand, which she accepted.

He was going to kiss it, but it felt too French and awkward. Definitely awkward. So instead he shook it.

Their books ended up forgotten, though.

They spoke, they chatted and learned a few things.

~a few things Arthur learned about Lizzy~

She was studying music here.

She liked Italian and Spanish food

Although she was a musician, she loved history art and drama.

She played the piano, trumpet, bass guitar, tenor horn, violin and flute.

She didn't think herself to be any good at any.

~a few things Lizzy learned about Arthur~

He hated the French

He loved and hated history

There was more to him than she already knew

He was a very proud _Englishman_

And he was studying history.

Time had indeed passed. The pair barely knew it. Only the tone saying Lunch was beginning told them they had been there over an hour.

Arthur grabbed his things and began to leave, but he was stopped. "Wait…I em…do you want to have lunch with me, we aren't studying the same thing, and it's a big school. So we might not see each other again, at least not for a while." Pink dusted her cheeks.

It sounded like a date.

Dammit all, that's not what she meant.

At least, not what she thought she meant, or wanted, in that case.

He smiled.

Just to make things worse. Just to add to the tension and awkward he did two things.

One: made a suggestion and two, agreed to go to lunch.

His suggestion though, was what added to the awkward.

"Well that's an easily solved problem! We just exchange phone numbers and we can text each other and read together in the library or whatever…if that's alright." Only then did he realise the gravity of his suggestion.

"well, sure. That's a good Idea…" she reached into her back pocket and took out a black fine tip pen, and held out her right hand.

_So she's left handed?_

He handed her his right hand, and she proceeded to blush and write her name and number on his hand, but was still herself enough to leave the side note of "_remember!_ _don't rub or wash this off without getting the number off."_

And a smiling face, and to Arthur's astonishment, a small "x" was below the name.

A kiss.

He smiled.

"I wont. I promise."

He kept his promise.

The pair had lunch together. And they found out yet more about each other.

~even more things Arthur learned about his new friend.~

She would proudly stuff her face, even with other people. As she believed women shouldn't have to be stick thin and eat nothing for her to be attractive.

There were a few subjects she didn't fail to have an opinion on, and some her opinion would change and be debated as she discussed or thought about it.

She was half English, and wants to move somewhere in the British countryside, or the Mediterranean.

She could eat almost as much pasta as North Italy himself.

Her lucky numbers were 5 and 3.

And she didn't fail to learn a few things about Arthur yet again.

~yet more things Lizzy learned about Arthur~

He was a real gentleman and refused to act or believe otherwise.

He didn't count calories, or know what they were

He hated hamburgers

And so, their lunch hour was consumed also. Which meant more lectures and lesson to take notes and write things about.

Joy. Oh joy.

But the number was still pristine on his hand, not a single smudge had tarnished her slightly sloppy handwriting on his hand. Even though he had eaten a small portion of chips. The grease went nowhere but on his napkin, as he was indeed, a gentleman.

He missed Victorian England. People had more manners then. Men treated women right.

Britain was one of the greatest empires that had ever lived.

Good times.

Well, for the rich they were. But he knew people suffered allot in those times. More so than they do today.

The poor, lived on the streets, suffering.

Homosexuality was prosecuted as a sin.

Even the rich, suffered in Victorian England.

Women damaged themselves with corsets.

Men were corrupt.

Power was something you had to fight to keep, and people didn't always fight clean.

People weren't very clean, either. He supposed.

Baths were a rare thing, and it was reserved for the rich and privileged.

Thankfully, that included himself. As the British Empire, and what not.

But his heart did go out to those that suffered, every single one.

And it broke his old heart even further to think about them.

He always imagined his heart as a broken mirror that only showed you what you wanted to see, or what you deserved to see.

He always saw himself, with the same look on his face as he did when he saw horrible things, sad things.

Or himself smiling, with America in his arms.

Then the barrel of a gun, with America at the end with the trigger on it.

_Stop. Stop now._

He had zoned out far too long. Lizzy was shaking him, he knew this but only sighed.

"Yes, Lizzy?" he asked tiredly.

"We need to get to class."

Oh, Fuck.

"Bugger…we do. Sorry, I zoned out…obviously." He hurriedly power-walked to his class after parting ways with Lizzy, who was off to her dorm to play the flute and trumpet, since her roommate (studying Biology) wouldn't be there.

Lets just say Flute wasn't her best instrument.

She was at grade 2, at best.

Since she started Trumpeting first, she was a good grade 6, but grade 7 was a no-way no-how situation.

Her guitar was amateur, but her violin was a good grade 4.

Her tenor horn was grade 4/5, because of her previous brass experience, she had progressed faster.

Her piano, was grade 3, at best. Er fingers weren't very nimble.

But to be honest, _she _wasn't very nimble, which was why the second she could she dropped pe like you would claim a lottery prize, fast and without complaint.

In fact, _incredibly fast and with great glee _would explain it better.

Oh, how she _despised _exercise.

Especially running.

Oh fucking hell…

She reminisced of this one time, she was around 14. Her school was doing the yearly fitness tests. (which she seemed to be getting progressively worse at as the years went on, as she simply gave up with attempting to do them)

And it was time for the 100m sprint, or as she put it, "the short prelude to an inescapable world of hell that would surely follow, known as the 800m sprint, where you wish you got off your ass and did some exercise, as you collapse of exhaustion after 150m of basically jogging."

Or simply, hell, might do it.

It was her turn, (and she hated her life and everyone involved the second she realised she was grouped with some of the fastest people she knew)

And cursed her life, her teacher, her school, and her luck, for putting her in such a situation.

She walked, behind the rest who jogged, to the start.

Her hatred for anything and everything she could think of welled up to a point of climax, the point the race started.

When with a cry of "I bloody hate running!" as loud as she could, she proceeded to come last in the race.

Panting, she directly past her teacher who said this fact was dually noted.

But she still had to do the 800 meters in a few days.

She smiled.

She still hated running, as much, or maybe even more, than she did then.

Arthur, was bored out of his skull. He knew this stuff first hand, and the lecturer had made several mistakes about how people lived in 1640, but then again, how could he know? It wasn't like he was _there at the time _or anything.

That's supposed to be a Bb, not a B natural. Dammit.

Lizzy continued to curse herself and resist the urge to throw her flute at the wall.

She couldn't afford to replace it.

Even though her education was free, she was paid little to nothing at her job in the nearby ice cream shop, but she did get plenty of free ice cream, as her pudgy belly would explain.

Not that she would complain, she would just have to go through the whole "you need to lose weight again" thing and then proceed to give up and stuff her face.

She ate when she was bored.

She ate when she was tired.

She ate when she had period cravings.

She ate when she was grumpy, tired or unhappy.

And she ate because she wanted too.

Like many teenagers on this planet.

Because no, out protagonist isn't someone who is absolutely perfect, and is amazing at everything she does, nor does she have a perfect body.

She is a woman. A young woman of 17 (as her birthday was in December) who was simply procrastinating until she had to decide what to do with her life. She studied a few other things when she had spare time, because her friends studied more than she did, and she didn't bother with parties for the simple reason she would regret it later.

And popular people disgusted her.

Well. No. she didn't like…well, and yes, this was one of those things she could go on forever about with her opinion, that covering yourself with make-up and shagging everyone you meet, isn't the right way to get through life. Nor was acting like a bitch to everyone but your "friends", whom you would probably end up backstabbing whenever the opportunity arose.

No. party later, work now.

And be nice to people in the hopes that they return the favour.

That was how she wanted it to work, but the allure of going to parties were strong, and she did get the odd invite.

Maybe her and Arthur could go to one?- as friends, obviously. He could stop her from doing something stupid, or the other way around.

Or they could huddle in some corner and do what British people do best, complain.

Ah, British jokes.

She lifted her flute again, looking back at the page, shoving these thoughts from her mind.

No, now was the time for her to do what _she _did best, beside reblogging on Tumblr or eating.

Making music.

She understood the true power of two things. She understood it like few others could her age.

~she understood the true power (to an extent) of~

Music

And Words.

Though, when she said things, it wasn't until she thinks about the words themselves, or considers them before speaking, does their power become ever clearer.

As did the notes on a sheet of music. Until she heard them, or read them, or heard them in her mind, she couldn't truly understand the power they held.

But when she did, she put that power to good use. She poured her heart and soul into it, and some would say that is a risky move.

But it's a risky move that has helped her pass exams.

And so, once more, with more emotion, as she believed to truly play a piece you must put a _piece _of yourself into it, the notes flew into the air and glided like a bird in flight, the song came to life and for a brief moment, she was in the blissful world of beautiful music.

Until there was a knock on the door.

And a sour note.

Another B natural where it wasn't supposed to be.

I want this story to have a character people relate to, people who would spend their time reading fanfics or trolling tumblr, and an absolute perfect feel of loving and being loved (eventually). And still have a realistic relationship. So If I've done alright at that, let me know! Thanks, merry Christmas! (I am writing this at 3am on Christmas Eve)…


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